Chapter 4

James stood at the rail as the ship sailed into Fredrick Harbor.

He had not been to the mainland in a few weeks. Ever since the the core of Nowy Warsaw had been declared ready for occupation, he had been focused on it. Fredrick, with its mix of tents and wooden buildings, was put on the back burner while most of the population moved to their new home. It had not helped that sailing between the two ports was a bother. Uncooperative winds and currents made the trip around Nowy Poland slow, if not slow enough to make rowing a better option. The sooner the lock could be built on the Anne river, allowing sailing directing from Nowy Warsaw's inland lake north across the strait to Fredrick, the better. As it was, James was almost tempted to put docks at the mouth of the Anne, lack of harbor notwithstanding.

Still, he had made it into the harbor before the sun had hit noon. Fully half the day remained in which the world's problems could fall like bowling balls onto his head. He was already dreading what he'd find.

There were footsteps behind him. Given the crew on this small vessel was incredibly busy making sure the ship missed any rocks and shallows, it could only be one of a handful of people. Of those, only one would probably be bothering him. Deciding to test his psychic abilities, he spoke without turning.

"Mister Jasinski."

The footsteps stopped. James wasn't sure how his magical translation ability was handling his use of 'Mister'. It seemed right, as this man was of very minor nobility, despite having been a village head. He was of the upper class, though, and no commoner. Turning, James saw Jasinski's expression was one of surprise, not insult. That was a relief. There was no need to piss him off too much. Not, at least, until the King found out how much of the disorder of the refugees could be laid at this man's feet. How much these people considered him a leader.

The man stood there, blinking. James tried not to look as exasperated as he felt. He smiled.

"What can I do for you?"

Jasinski walked to the rail a few feet from James. His hands grabbed it, probably, James thought, just for something to do with them. James turned to look out over the water as well.

Even more so than with Nowy Warsaw, James felt pride when he looked out over what they had built here. In just a few short months earthen walls had been thrown up around a huge expanse of land, encompassing farmland, grazing pastures, quarries. A church, steeple rising high into the sky, stood next to what had been his palace. Wooden buildings, both temporary and built to last, lined streets in the process of being paved with stone. Stone in some cases left from the first masonry structures starting to rise from the Earth. Stone buildings that showed the Poles planned to stay.

Two wooden docks jutted out from the eastern side of the harbor. The ship turned, sailors shouting above as sails were taken in. Two other ships, one of Kikker origin, occupied the other dock. James turned towards the tiller.

"Captain! If you would be so kind as to raise my banner!"

"Yes, Your Grace! Seaman, raise the Royal Banner!"

The man beside him was still quiet as the ship slowly slid beside the dock. Lines were tossed, tied, as seamen and shore men brought the voyage to a close. James let out a sigh as he felt the ship come to a stop, his grip tightening at the jolt of their forward momentum reversing for a slight moment, before even that was stopped by other lines. Confident it was now safe to walk with reasonable dignity, James released the rail.

"We seem to be here." He glanced at the man. Jasinski was just staring at the town. Whatever he had planned to say seemed to have fled. Possibly no big loss. James turned away, just as the man spoke.

"I apologize, Your Grace."

The King turned back, regarding him curiously.

"For what?"

"For not doing what God and Country asked of me, to the best of my ability." His eyes stayed on the shore. "I did not take charge. Did not ... lead. When I see around me the result of your exodus, and compare it to what you will see of mine, I am ashamed. All yesterday we heard the people in the palace, telling of the horrible shape my fellow Poles were in. The latest gossip, the latest deaths."

Jasinski turned to James. "Did you lose people?"

"We got most of the dying out of the way when the city fell, but, yes, a few. Soldiers, mostly, protecting the column." Looking at the dock beside them, James saw an honor guard moving towards them as the gangway was put into position. "What's done is done. Blame is for afterwards. For now, it's time to work with what we have, save those we can. Come on. I can see Captain Putaski's unhappy face from here."

"Greetings, Your Grace." The Captain bowed, as the honor guard saluted. James nodded in acknowledgment. At some point, he'd have to give this man a rank and title appropriate to his position and power. Hell, he really wasn't even Captain of the Royal Guard anymore, not in practice. He was hardly at the palace at all. Or, maybe the definition of that job had just changed. A problem for another time.

"Good morning, Captain. I trust you have today's emergencies all lined up for me."

A slight smile fought to appear on the serious man's face. He nodded.

"We have good news as well." Motioning James to walk with him, the two headed back down the dock as the guards fell in around them. Jasinski walked a few steps behind. "The main body is all within our walls, as of a few hours ago."

"Thank God," James said, shoulders slumping in relief.

"Yes. We lost a few more. Two old men, and one child who ran in front of a wagon. It wasn't the wagoner's fault, the boy was three and he just couldn't see him."

James doubted that would matter to either the mother, or the driver. He nodded.

"Accidents happen."

"Exactly. We now are left with a seemingly endless stream of stragglers. I swear, our riders are reporting a family or two every mile they backtrack the trail. We have no idea how many people are still out there." The Captain's eyes went to Jasinski, scorn barely hidden. James kept his focus on his second in command.

"The more of our people who are still alive, the better." The Captain's gaze returned to him. "How far have the riders made it?"

"They're not yet back to the road. Obviously, every new batch of civilians stops them for a bit. We don't have enough men to line the entire trail to provide full protection, and our hussars keep having to turn back to provide escort." He gave a tired laugh. "Your idea of crossing the Orlan is a good one, but it will be days before we can."

"I've thought of that." They stepped off the dock, onto dry land. He turned to look back at the single masted sailing ship. "Remember that small Kikker settlement the road passed through? The one with the dock, half dozen houses?"

"Yes." Captain Putaski's voice indicated he suddenly understood the as yet unstated plan. James nodded.

"Send a ship there, with supplies. The one I came in, say. Set up a refugee camp there. With willing help from the locals, naturally. See if one of the Kikker here will go as an envoy, help negotiate payment. We can bring people back here by ship, send out riders from there up towards Daraja. No reason these poor people should have to walk more than they have."

"A good plan, Your Grace."

"Let's hope so."

The sound of music drew James towards a large expanse of grass just outside the grid of streets. Ignoring whatever destination had been planned for him, he moved down the wide dirt road between wood frame buildings which had a definite medieval, yet "wild west" feel. The music was happy, joyous. Not quite a Polka, but only because the accordion was a modern instrument. He could hear the origins of that style, and it brought a smile to his face. Turning a corner, he stopped, taking in the view.

Open fire pits and makeshift stoves had been set up at one end of the green field. As smoke wafted over towards him, James could smell stew, fish, lamb. Thousands of men, women, children, stood in line for a midday meal, or sat in groups eating, laughing. The music came from five men sitting on log seats, playing Kozial, Polish bagpipes, fiddles and tambourines. In the space before them, small children danced around, laughing, singing.

James turned to the man who had abandoned these people, and the one who had brought them out of danger. He could feel the smile on his face.

"You've both done good."

Jasinski bowed low.

"Thank you, Your Grace." His voice was heavy with emotion. James nodded to the Captain.

"OK. Let's get to work."

Shanna stood at the bow of the Kikker fishing boat as it entered Saribit harbor.

Now, she was in a fantasy world.

There had been the occasional unusual plant or animal. The frog people, and the one elf she had seen her first day fate and magic had exiled her to this world. Other than that, it could have been Earth. An Earth with frog people and elves, true, but they could have been the strangers in her world. Now the college freshman was confronted with the first solid example of the otherness of this world.

The city of Saribit was not one whole. Her eye could see that. The base of it, the core, was stone, both carved and stacked. Stone buildings jutted out of the ground, out of the cliffside behind the city. The lines were all curved, the roofs domes, or a series of domes. There were no carvings, no decorations. Just smooth rock, polished to a shine. Mixed in with these were the same wood frame structures she had seen in the fishing village. Human-like buildings rising up, square, imposing. It was almost as if the Kikker were inhabiting a place built by others, modern man building among still standing Greek structures without regard for what aesthetically fit in.